


The Lights In The Sky

by SixtySevenChevy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Coda, Gen, Season 8 finale, Spoilers for finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 06:06:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SixtySevenChevy/pseuds/SixtySevenChevy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world watches as the sky is lit up with streaks and explosions of light and flame. No one know what it means.</p>
<p>Except for a very select few.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lights In The Sky

**Author's Note:**

> So that finale hurt, didn't it? Who wants to make it worse? *raises hand*

It looks like a lightning storm, but so deeply and profoundly different. It looks like a meteor shower, but so much more wrong, so terrible and horrifying. The flashes and streaks and explosions rock the planet, stopping the world in its tracks, forcing everything to come to a standstill, both day and night watching, awestruck, taking pictures and video, tweeting and posting, confused and scared and excited because they don’t know that what they’re witnessing is the end of everything.

All over the planet, on every continent and in every country, people stand on porches and roofs, cameras in hand, gazing with awe at the streaks of light that illuminate the night sky. Traffic is at a standstill and airplanes are crashing down to the ground, pilots panicking and making emergency landings, unable to see past the blinding explosions. On the opposite side of Earth, commuters and office workers are staring slack-jawed at the daytime meteor shower. Leaders and politicians are on their phones, shouting at secretaries, at reporters, at their families. Newscasters are texting their spouses that they won’t be home tonight or tomorrow, there’s so much to do. Scientists are emailing frantically, babbling into phones, making calls to anyone who could help. Religious folk are praying, sprinting to churches and synagogues and places of worship in their bare feet, not having time to put on any shoes or coats. It affects everyone.

Outside a tiny abandoned church, huddled against the cool metal of their house on wheels, are two brothers. They stare up at the sky, unable to speak, both terrified out of their minds but unwilling to show it. The younger of the two is gasping, weak from the trials he was unable to complete, cradled in his brother’s arms as he watches the flashes and streaks in the clouds. The older brother stares, wide-eyed, screaming in his mind but silent physically but for the hushed curses that he murmurs every now and then. They clutch at each other’s jackets, fingers fisting in worn cotton and denim, not taking their eyes off the sky. They watch as the world ends.

Inside that very same rundown church, a man sits in a chair, chained to the floor and trapped in a circle of bright orange paint. He’s not a demon and he’s not a human. He’s not sure what he is anymore, but he knows for certain that he’s terrified. After all, the very things he distrusts and despises are going to be walking the earth soon enough, and he doesn’t have power anymore. He’s lost everything, and now he’s going to be killed. He is absolutely certain of it; he was never a favorite among his people. He’s weak and beaten and he _feels,_ regret and remorse and pain, things a being such as himself should never have to stoop to. He can’t see outside, but he can feel the power and energy as the sky is thrown into bursts of light and explosions of fire. He knows the end has come.

A short ways away, standing in a forest clearing, is a man. He stares up into the sky, tears streaming freely down his face, watching in complete horror as the unthinkable happens. He shudders out a breath and drops to his knees, completely broken. The impact of the soggy grass hurts, and he lets out a sob. It isn’t supposed to hurt. He isn’t supposed to feel pain, or emotions, or regret. And if it weren’t for him and his stupidity, his damned trusting nature, his desire to help and to heal and to fix what he broke, he wouldn’t. Because, if he’s truthful with himself, all of this is his fault. He knows this wholeheartedly, and the weight of his guilt threatens to crush him under its unforgiving iron. He curls into a ball and squeezes his eyes shut, unable to continue watching.

The whole world watches as it happens. They don’t know the significance, the ramifications, the consequences involved. No one but a few—two boys, a man who isn’t quite a man, and a million streaks of light—truly know what is going on. They watch in fascination as the stars and moon are blotted out by light that shines so brightly, it hurts to look at directly. No one but them knows why this is the end. No one can ever know. It would cause mass hysteria and panic, and then they would be unable to save the world from what is surely to come.

Because the world is over. Those lights in the sky were the only things keeping the balance between good and evil, keeping the scum of the earth from rising to rule above as they do below. Without the balance, all is lost. 

And still the angels fall.

**Author's Note:**

> *puts hand back down and begins crying*


End file.
